


Chronicles of a Very Confused Ender

by oofins_Mcgoofins



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Any original characters are just to make the world seem less empty, DRISTA!!!, Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, If you're looking for angst, In the Run Boy Run AU, Light Angst, Memory Loss, No Beta We Die Like Endermen, Oops, Ranboo gets scared easily, Ranboo is confused, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Some Art Included, Worldbuilding, at least they won't be main characters, drum roll please, fanfic for fanfic, forgot to add:, have patience, now including, will add more tags as i go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oofins_Mcgoofins/pseuds/oofins_Mcgoofins
Summary: Ranboo is confused. He('s pretty sure) has been nothing but peaceful to these humans, but for some reason they keep hunting him.Does they count as hunters if he's already been caught?
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC :), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 839
Collections: Ranboo Is Best Boi, Run Boy Run AU





	1. Memory issues suck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteWolfCub (SilverWolfCub)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolfCub/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Run Boy Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495922) by [WhiteWolfCub (SilverWolfCub)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolfCub/pseuds/WhiteWolfCub). 



Ranboo's face was smushed against gravel in a way he was sure was going to leave imprints on his sensitive flesh. His chest was freezing, quite literally as the spare drops of water on his skin had frozen into tiny, glass looking beads. He hated water. 

There was a foot placed firmly in the middle of his back, and Ranboo couldn't muster up any energy to teleport from the hands that harshly tied his hands with rope and his ankles with chain. His black markings glowed a dim bluish green with each attempt, but it was so faint he wondered if it looked any different.

He was so cold.

His mind was foggy, as if memories were playing hide and seek. Ranboo didn't like it when his memories played hide and seek. It always felt as if he was the only one who did the seeking, and they had decided to hide in the one place that was off limits.

His bonds tightened painfully in a reminder of where he was at the moment. The cruel sneers that passed between the group of people who had tied up Ranboo for no reason did not go unnoticed.

Ranboo briefly searched for the reason why he was tied up. . . 

His brow furrowed, but he finally figured it out. They were hunters. Did Ranboo know why they were hunting him? No. Not at all, but he had accepted this as fact now. Well, they weren't really hunting him now, since they caught Ranboo, but - would they be catchers if they already caught me? Why are they catching me?

Ranboo, not for the first time, wondered how he got into this situation.

* * *

He has had memory problems for as long as he remembered, which isn't much anymore. Somethings, though, were easier to remember than others.

He remembered the first time he was found by an enderman. Well, he remembered the stories - he had been young, still fairly short, very lackluster in communication skills (not that he was much better now). He remembered being told that he needed to be protected, and that he was the strangest born they had ever met. 

He was ushered to the End which seemed very different at the time (later, he didn't know why it was different, since it was the only landscape he remembered, but he thinks he understands more now). It was made of tall black pillars, yellowish stone, and a void black sky that stretched from horizon to horizon. Where he arrived, it seemed to be just a floating island.

He wondered why this was a sanctuary when it couldn't be bigger than the world he just left, but didn't quite remember. He didn't understand. He didn't understand a lot of things. The island was already crowded and most of the figures were either endermen or people with masks, ragged clothing, small bundles of belongings, and white masks pressed tightly against their faces.

They all stared at him with blank stares and he felt unease prickle underneath his skin. It quickly developed into fear and he hunched his shoulders up. 

_Why are they all staring at me?_

A stray hand reached up to check if he had one of those creepy masks on.

His fingers touched a smooth, porcelain material and icy panic settled into the cavity right next to where his pearl was. His hands flew to the sides of his mask, quickly finding clasps that he fumbled to undo the creepy thing. He wrenched the white mask away from his face and breathed a sigh of relief. It felt nice to know there wasn't any nightmare fuel strapped to his face.

He was attracting even more stares. The enderman that brought him here buzzed in confusion. 

**"Child, why have you taken off your mask?"**

The child (he hadn't really known his name at the time) shuddered. **"I-I wanted to have a face."**

The enderman chuckled. **"You have a face, even with a mask. But-"**

She interrupted herself with a confused trill. **"You have. . . The most interesting Born markings I have ever seen. May I?"**

He tilted his head, looking up at the dark being. The enderman was almost completely blended in with the black of the void behind it. He nodded, slightly unsure.

A black claw reached out to his face and traced gently down the black lines that curled from his green eye. The finger was cold to the touch, but his ender pearl hummed happily, resonating with the similar magic drifting off the enderman. He found himself closing his eyes and leaning into the touch slightly.

But the claw drew away. The child looked up at the End person with sad, heterochromatic eyes. A small hissing wheeze escaped her mouth in a chuckle. **"Most Born markings are very limited, and stay around the eyes. Yours are only on the right side of you and they cover most of your skin. . ."**

He blinked and tilted his head. 

The enderman shook her head. **"What is your name, child?"**

The child hesitated. A migraine buzzed up from his head and pounded behind his eyes. With a furrowed brow he realized he didn't know his own name. **"I . . ."** He looked up at his tall guardian's eyes with his own sad, confused ones, **"I don't know?"**

**"I don't know my name."**


	2. Some Concept art

Some Ranboo concept art:

Kinda Blurry [Portrait](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1F07qndv4b2qBBfugSgAVZGmpRCHJzSMD/view?usp=sharing)

[Ranboo](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Ewnjf6-96TLW6mbSedwmgrT1FVhSfd_4/view)

I was going to digitalize it before I posted it, but I was having some trouble with that. I also wanted to show my appreciation for the support <3

I wanted to insert the images directly, but I couldn't figure it out, so I just added a link. Please comment if the links don't work!

Edit: The links should work now <3


	3. Foundling

Still unnamed, the child soon learns that the End wasn't just some small, crowed island filled with thirty or so ragged refugees. His ender guardian, she repeatedly reminded him her name was Dhoephre (the name slipped from his mind quickly, so he resolved to call her Doe -Doe Doe Doe), had informed him that this was just one of the many entrance islands. Apparently, the entrance islands are the only places where beings (not including endermen) could get into the End. Most of the entrance portals have closed, the rest letting in the remaining refugees before they would close for a long time (maybe even forever).

He didn't understand how it all worked, even after it was explained, especially since he doesn't know how they would get to the other 'islands.' There wasn't anything in sight other than the open void!

Feeling a soft tap on his shoulder, the child looked up to see an enderman, who presumed to be Doe, looking over his shoulder. Shinning red and green met luminescent purple. **"Doe?"**

 **"Dhoephre,"** she patiently reminded him, taking a seat on the endstone next to him. He hummed, attempting to commit it to memory, only for it to slip from his grasp once again not soon after. They sat in silence for a bit, taking in the empty void in front of them. All that could be heard were quiet whispers from the campsites and the ambient static that accompanied Ender magic.

 **"Child, I have some news for you."** Doe's voice caused him to startle; He had forgotten that she was sitting next to him.

**"Y-yeah?"**

**"It took some time, but you should be allowed to go to one of the living islands now."**

The child nodded with a facade of confidence, but Doe could see the unspoken question. **"Remember, you have to have permission before I can teleport you to any of them."**

A light of recognition flashed in his eyes and he nodded once more, this time more enthusiastically. **"I remember that!"**

The exclamation rang through the silence and the background whispers ebbed out. There was pure silence then, one of awkwardness and static, before the near silent conversations started back up again. The child blinked and blushed, realizing he was the one to cause the sudden bout of tension. He chuckled nervously.

Doe chuckled with him, but soon turned serious once again. **"Are you ready to go, Child?"**

He nodded, grabbing hold of the Enderman's outstretched hand. The static buzzed more and the child could nearly feel it vibrating the air around him. His pearl resonated with the pulse of magic. 

They were gone with a snap and a burst of cold magic.

. . .

The End City was. . . A lot more overstimulating than the nearly empty entrance island. There were sky-scraping towers made of endstone bricks and this purple block. Enderman were everywhere and there were also many iconic white masks of Enderborn, though some of the more confident ones has forgone them.

A forest of dark purple tree with light purple fruit surrounded the city. They didn't seem like any trees the child knew (but he couldn't exactly pinpoint what was wrong with them). In the distance, a purple ship was hovering majestically over the city, the dragon head figurehead was positioned just like it was about to breath fire and reign destruction over the city. Or perhaps it was jealously guarding its treasure trove. _What was I thinking about again?_ The child caught sight of the city again. _It's very purple. Why is everything so purple? Enderman's eyes were purple, their teleportation particles were purple- heck- even the void seemed a little purple-_

**"Child?"**

_Why aren't more things green?_ The child remembers being very fond of the color green, though he hasn't really seen it much (from what he remembers) other than his right eye. Despite that, the color felt oddly familiar, like he had seen it in an abundance before-

 **"Child."** His head snapped up to look at Doe's very unimpressed face. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

 **"Mhm."** He felt too awkward for words at the moment, especially since he got caught spacing out. Shame buzzed at the tips of his ears. Doe was probably thinking how weird he was. Heck, she probably had been thinking that the moment she saw him, but is taking the opportunity now to shame him. She was just going to laugh at him and abandon him just like-

_Just like who?_

**"Child, are you okay?"** Doe's concerned voice cut through his own self induced panic. Any trace of disappointment was gone from her face and it took the child a second to comprehend this. _I shouldn't have overreacted like that_ , he chided himself.

Any sign of distress faded from his features, and he nodded. Doe stared at him with a look he couldn't decipher before it faded away. **"What?"** He asked. 

She shook her head, eyes sad for some reason. **"Let us go to the city, Child."**

. . .

If seeing the city from afar distracted the child easily, actually being there made him act like a hyperactive puppy that didn't know what toy he wanted to play with.

There were new sights, smells, culture, and it was all crowded there on the streets between the buildings that seemed to scrape the sky. Doe held the child's hand tightly, not wanting to lose the child (who apparently had memory issues) in the crowd of tall Endermen and shorter Enderborn and 'short' Halfender. The child wasn't making things easy, pulling harshly in the direction of whatever holds his fancy only to slow when he forgets exactly what he was running towards. 

It made her heart twinge.

Eventually, they made it to an area that had less things of interest, and Doe gently guided the child to the Ender equivalent of what Lookers would call an orphanage.

She hummed a slow lullaby to him, hoping it would help keep him grounded. To her delight, she found it worked - the fog in his eyes had cleared somewhat and he actually seemed to be taking in his surroundings with more focus. His eyes squinted as he read the sign of the smallish building: _**'Foundlings of Ender.'**_

Doe opened the door and walked into the foyer, a bell chimed pleasantly to announce her entrance. The ceiling was tall, as they all were in Ender cities, but the lobby was cozy. Doe would have described it more as a living room actually, with its homely looking sitting area and a fire place to bring comfort to any Ender who felt too cold for comfort. Several blankets were neatly folded on the couch and there are cupboards in the corner that is surely filled with even more blankets. Several children were sitting near the fire place and their eyes were filled with curiosity as they beheld the newcomer.

Doe could nearly feel the child's uncertainty - he wasn't tugging in any direction, but instead remained standing uncertainly by her side. He looked at one of the fuzzy purple blankets longingly, but seemed deterred by the other Enders in the room. That confused Doe- she had expected a young child like himself to be excited to see others around his age, but he seemed less than enthused.

Just then, an older Enderborn walked into the room. She wasn't wearing a mask, so her crows feet and worry wrinkles were open to the world. She had a few grey streaks in her otherwise healthy brown hair and her eyes seem to emanate a calming energy along with a quiet concern as she regarded the timid Enderborn clinging to Doe's side.

 **"Hello, Dhoephre."** The Foundling worker bowed her head respectively. **"I see you have brought another in."**

 **"I have, Yura."** Dhoephre bowed her own head in turn, a traditional greeting. **"Can we speak privately about this little one - he's a special case."**

 **"Yes, of course."** Yura waved a hand to show Doe to follow her. She walked away and Doe followed, leading the Child along with them. She led them down a narrow hall (still with tall roofs) and eventually into the room that seemed to be an office. Yura took a seat in the chair behind the desk and gestured to the chair in front of her. **"Take a seat."**

Dhoephr obliged, closing the door softly behind her and moving to the chair directly in front of the desk. The child stood uncertainly, but moved to the smaller chair in the corner of the room. Yura's eyes filled with concern at the sight of him. " **Are you sure you want him to be in here for this conversation?"**

Doe pondered that briefly, staring sadly as the child's face lost focus and drifted away to whatever he was thinking about. **"Yes."**

It was sad, really. No matter what they talk about within range of the child, he always seemed to forget it by the next day.

Yura sighed and put on her business face. **"Even if he's a special case I still need to have the answers to the standard questions."** She brought out a quill and a piece of paperwork that was unfilled out. **"First, what's his name?"**

Doe shook her head with a sick feeling of despair. **"He doesn't have one. Not one he remembers."** Names were something very important to every species, but they held special significance to Enders. To not have a name was to not have a home, to not have an identity. Names often hold some sort of significance to the one it was given- it often defines a trait that made them stand out from others.

Yura's expression filled with sympathy and flickered with concealed anger. " **Why doesn't he have one?"** She looked prepared to stomp over to his nonexistent parents and strangle them.

 **"He has memory problems,"** Dhoephr explained, **"I'm not sure if he was born with them, or something else caused it, but he needs help. A Healer."**

 **"I can arrange that,"** the caretaker said softly, scratching it down as a note. **"If he doesn't know his name, he doesn't know his age."** She cast an eye over the despondent boy who had taken to fiddling with the tattered edge of his sleeve. Yura muttered something in common under her breath - Dhoephr wouldn't be surprised if it was some sort of curse with how vehemently she said it.

**"I had found him in a plains biome bordering on a mountain and a partially burned down dark oak forest. No one was around from what I could see."**

Yura frowned. **"So we have no leads."**

Doe shook her head dejectedly, **"No. I think there is only one thing we can do for him."**

**"Give him a name."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post this so I could get a head start on the next chapter, but I decided not to :)
> 
> Also, I have some. . . Plans for our dear unnamed child's backstory (because no matter how cool being half albino would be, that's not how genetics work).


	4. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unnamed child gets a name.

The child was alone. He was alone in a bed in a room filled with others who were supposedly just like him - alone. The lights were off, it was dark, but that was fine because he wasn't scared of the dark. It was one of the few things he wasn't scared of. But as cold permeated through him, he gripped the comforter that was meant to comfort and warm (but it wasn't working) and he wondered what he did to deserve being left here alone.

What he had forgotten was that Doe was downstairs in a guest bedroom, staying for a week to help with the transition. He didn't remember that they were working on a name for him. He didn't remember a lot of things, but at that moment, forgetting that he wasn't actually alone seemed like the most important one not to forget.

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal of Child_

_Entry 1:_

_Doe gave me this diary (diary is a lame word, so I changed it to journal) today. Apparently it is supposed to help me remember things later if I ever forget them. I'm supposed to always have it with me so I won't ever forget what I'm doing or get lost._

_I want to get a name. I'm not the only child, and everyone else around me has a name, so I'm going to give myself my own name! It'll be the coolest name ever- everyone's gonna be jealous!_

_Doe said she's leaving in a week. I don't know why she isn't just staying, but she said something about how she needs to find any stragglers and 'can't bear to stay in one place for too long.' I think I can relate, I don't like sitting still either._

. . .

The lights were on in the room that held all the foundlings' beds. It was the Bedroom - and it was hardly ever used for actual sleeping. Hybrids, specifically Nether and Ender, didn't need nearly as much sleep as Lookers did. So, instead, the Bedroom was often more of a quiet place for the foundlings and a good get away with personal space.

At the moment, several were lounging in their beds, every so often curiously glancing at a lump hiding underneath the sheets. Occasionally there were mutterings drifting from the covers, though when any of the other foundlings came by the words were unintelligible and random. There was also faint scribbling noises that tend to accompany the sound of a charcoal pencil being used. 

A sigh echoed nearby as a small child slumped in her bed. The new kid moved into the bed next to her and she had hardly seen a trace of him. She had been waiting for him to come out from his covers for hours just so she could introduce herself, but to no avail. Her violet eyes glared at the lump in the sheets for making her wait for so long.

With a huff, she rolled over on her back, staring at the ceiling above her bed that she had covered with stars. It had taken a while, since the ceilings were a lot higher than the house she remembered in the overworld, but it was worth it since she could see the stars every time she slept (which admittedly seemed to happen less often). She reached up and pretended to grab one of them, only to drop her hand back down with another sigh. She shifted positions, now laying on her belly, and fingered one of the books (the spine read 'Astrology' in common) that was in the small shelf at the head of her bed. She almost took it out, but then changed her mind. The foundling couldn't take it anymore, she was bored.

Then a mischievous glint entered her eye along with a fantastic idea. She grinned.

Slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position and glanced over at the lump in the bed next to hers. She slid down the side of the bed carefully, so that the bed spring didn't squeak. She lowered herself to her tiptoes and quietly walked closer to her neighbor. His near silent mutterings could be heard now.

**"Rare. . . uhm red? I have a red eye. . . Royal. No, too boring. . . I'm pretty ran-"**

" **Boo**!"

" **AHHH**!"

He shot up from his covers, hands tucked against his chest. A small pencil went flying into the air and coincidentally landed right on his head, only serving to scare him more. **"Oh jeez!"**

A snort escaped her and she failed to keep her composure (not that she was trying to keep it). She erupted into giggles when he turned his green and red eyes to her - he looked slightly betrayed and that served as fuel for her own enjoyment. Eventually she managed to calm down enough to make a joke.

**"So you're Pretty Ranboo, huh?"**

**"No-"**

**"I'm Tulia!"** Tulia grinned, eyes sparkling just like the stars she admired. 

The boy seemed to unfreeze, hesitantly giving her a small wave and a shaky smile. **"Hi. And, uh, Pretty Ranboo isn't my name."**

 **"Then what is your name?"** She leaned in closer as if to share a secret, **"You can tell me, I won't spill."**

 **"I, uh,"** One of his hands rubbed the back of his neck, **"I don't have a name."** He glanced dejectedly at a notebook that was lying open in the middle of his bed. On the page was a list full of words and syllables; some were crossed out, others circled- 'R' was marked with a star. 

Tulia pouted. **"That's not fair- you got my name!"**

 **"What?!"** He sputtered. " **I can't give you a name if I don't have one to give!"**

She flopped down on her own bed. He glared at her with his arms crossed. She sat up suddenly as another wonderful idea struck her. **"Hey, if you don't have a name, why _can't_ it be Pretty Ranboo?"**

**"Why would I want _Pretty_ to be in my name?"**

**"Just Ranboo then!"**

**"NO!!!"**

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal Of ~~Child~~ Ranboo_

_Entry 2:_

_I found a name and a friend! My name is Ranboo now, which is pretty cool. I don't think anyone has ever had that name before. Never ever, in the history of all names in existence._

_My friend's name is Tulia. She really likes stars. She likes stars so much that she has two books on them. I can't read those books, but that's because they're in another language than I know, not because I can't read. Because I can read. If I couldn't read, how would I be writing this? I'm not dumb._

_I kinda feel bad, since I don't really remember what stars are, or what they look like all that much. I'm pretty sure they're more than just the weird shape. It'd be a little weird if they weren't, especially since Yulia seems to like them so much. She asked me what my Zodiac sign was, but I didn't know what that was, so I had to ask. Apparently it's something like where the stars were when you were born. I'm not sure I could write it word for word. I don't know my birthday, so I just responded with 'whichever one means lazy.'_

_She said something about Sagittarius (yes I got help to spell it). I don't really know what that means, but she said something about how they're free spirited and fear commitment._

_I'm not really sure if that applies to me, but I'll take what I'll get_

_-Ranboo_

. . .

Ranboo sat in an office, the same office he was in when he first arrived three days ago. Beside him sat Doe and across of him sat Yura with her hands folded in front of her. Doe's own arms hung loosely by her sides, fingertips nearly scraping the ground. He wondered briefly if his own arms would ever grow that long. But he supposed if they would, he would probably be very tall. Considering he was part Ender, he didn't think it would be too big of a stretch of the imagination that he would grow to be tall. Ranboo wondered if-

 **"Child?** " At the sound of Doe's static voice Ranboo abruptly remembered he was in the cozy little office for a reason, snapping to attention.

Yura gave Doe a look that seemed to say 'I'll take it from here.' **"I'm sure you're wondering why you are in here."**

Ranboo gave a hesitant nod, uncertain if he actually wanted to know the answer with the serious atmosphere that permeated throughout the room. It made him feel out of place.

Yura took the nod as permission to continue. **"I have called you to my office in order to give you your name."**

Feeling her expectant gaze, Ranboo gave a confused, **"Okay?"** as his response. He didn't exactly know what type of reaction she expected him to give. _Don't I already have a name? It'd be pretty cool if I got another one._

 **"We hereby grant you the name Solon,"** Yura formally decreed. She waited for him to say something, continuing when he stayed silent. **"It means 'forgotten one.'"**

 **"Now that's just depressing,"** Ranboo found himself saying. He likes Ranboo way better than Solon, but maybe it'll be like a middle name or something. **"Not that it's bad or anything, it's quite nice. But I actually came up with my own name."**

 **"Oh,"** Doe seemed a little subdued, and Ranboo is suddenly uncertain if it's a big offence to refuse a formally given name. He hopes it isn't a big cultural offence, instead of just a social offence.

**"I gave myself the name Ranboo."**

Silence. Yura's brow was creased, as if she was trying to work out something in her head but couldn't quite figure it out. **". . . Does it mean something . . . ?"**

 **"I don't know!"** Ranboo exclaimed cheerfully. Doe nodded as if she had anticipated that response. She probably did; even if she didn't know the child-Ranboo- for all that long, she had noticed he was pretty predictable in a conversation. 

**"If that is what you wish your name to be,"** Yura cautiously acknowledged, getting a vivacious nod from Ranboo in return. " **Very well. The only thing a can give you is the translation to that in Common."**

Ranboo tilted his head slightly. **"Common? That's the other language, right?"**

 **"Yes** , **"** Yura chuckled fondly. **"Here it is.** Ranboo."

**"Uhm, can you repeat that?"**

"Ranboo."

 **"Hmmm. Lemme try. . ."** Ranboo rolled his tongue. The word she kept saying didn't hold any of the natural buzz that always accompanied Enderspeak. "R̵͓̦̅̍̊͗͜͡ā̷̢̦̮̏̈͡n̶̡̯̰̱̰̩̏̀͡b̶̡̞͔̙̌̏̀̚͡o̴̗̤̪҇͊̀͐͒͢o̷̡̦͕̫̤͋̓̕" 

**"Close, try again.** Ranboo"

"R̷̢͝ą̷͞n̸̢̛b҈͢͞o҉̡͞o̷͢͡?"

 **"You almost have it**. Ranboo."

"R̸a҉n̷b̵o̶o̷"

Yura nodded in approval. **"That's very good for your first few tries. We can try again later."**

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal of ~~Child~~ Ranboo_

_Entry 11:_

_When all of the children complain about 'edgucation,' I never understood. Now I do. It sucks. Especially for me since I keep having memory loss. Apparently that makes it a lot harder for me to learn things. They are teaching me things like math. That isn't to hard because I just have to work really hard to memorize certain things and eventually I'll just know them. Or I could just write the stuff down._

_Common is my worst class. I'm really bad at remembering the phrases I'm supposed to know. I'm getting better though! I can even write a whole sentence. Here:_ Hello, my name is Ranboo. I like the color blue.

_Doe left a few days ago, but I forgot to write it in my journal, so I'm doing that now._

_Apparently my memory loss gets worse the more stressed and overstimulated I am. I must have been very stressed before I came to the End, because I don't remember anything._

_I'm hoping to be able to explore the city soon. They won't let me go yet, but they might let me go with an escort._

_-Ranboo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it :)  
> I'll probably will be doing these journal entrees as a way to split up scenes because I don't want to write all of these out into scenes. Writing plot helps keep me motivated.  
> And boy do I have some nice plot planned.  
> Also, do you want more time in the End, or jump to the meat and potatoes? Comment.


	5. A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo gets a new friend(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning:
> 
> I use some Zalgo text as a flashback transition. There isn't any hidden message, so don't try to give yourself a headache trying looking at it too much.

In the city square, a small girl dodged and weaved between the tall Enders. She had a wide smirk on her face and a devil-may-care glint in her eyes, not that anyone could see that past the frowny mask held securely to her face. Several concerned Endermen turned slightly when they noticed a child without a guardian rushing through the crowds, but she had vanished from sight before they could stop her.

In a city with Lookers, this might have been more of a concerning matter. A child could get lost, stumble on the shady side of town and get injured or even kidnapped. End cities are one of the most peaceful places in all three dimensions; there is no discrimination because they are all at least part Ender. Endermen are fiercely protective of Enderborn and halfborn that they don't tolerate any harm coming to what they view as their offspring. The worst thing that could happen to a child running recklessly through the city is a scraped knee and bruised pride.

Sides heaving, the girl whipped her head behind her, grin widening once she realised she had slipped her parents.

**"Yes!"** She cheered, running into a nearby alley in order to lose them for good. 

The next thing she understood she was on her back, blinking stars from her eyes.

**"Oh! Are you okay?"**

And the cause of her embarrassment was standing right in front of her.

The girl nearly thought he was an Enderman at first glance. He was tall, taller than her (which wasn't that surprising since he also looked older than her), but he hardly had any muscle at all. If she had ignored his left side and the fact he had a green and red eye instead of two purple ones, he could have easily passed as just a regular -if a little short- Enderman.

Add in the fact that he had hair, half his body was snow white, he had strangely pointed elf-like ears, and suddenly the girl isn't sure what he is.

**"You're the strangest lookin' 'born I've ever met."** The statement left her mouth before she remembered that the boy had bodied her, intentionally or not, and she _really liked getting revenge._

So when he politely reached out his hand, she pulled him closer and smacked him across his black and white face, hopefully making him feel a little black and blue.

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal of ~~Child~~ Ranboo_

_Entry 56:_

_I got smacked by a small girl today._

_I had gotten separated from my escort to the market and panicked. So I ended up forgetting the directions back home to the 'Foundlings of Ender.' I took a few minutes to calm down and I was gathering the courage to ask a nearby Ender for directions back when she ran into me. Literally, she literally ran into me and ended up on the ground._

_Being the nice Ender that I am, I apologized and asked if she was okay. The only thing she said was that I looked weird- and I know that. But since I'm so polite, I tried to give her a hand up, but the only thing she used it for was to pull me closer so she could smack me! What did I even DO??? She didn't even tell me her name!_

_Anyway, I'm getting a lot better at teleporting. My instructor said something about natural talent? I don't know, but I'm glad I'm good at one thing in my studies._

_I'm still really bad at speaking Common, but I am getting better at understanding it and writing it._

_I'm starting to understand why other people hate math._

_The cleric told me that my memory is getting better and if nothing too stressful happens on the road to recovery I should only have minor memory problems instead of random gaps in my memory. But then he ended up saying stuff like 'the road to recovery is a long process' and I got the feeling that he thinks I'm still a long way from recovered._

_I had to read my whole book yesterday in order to remember, so I'm inclined to agree._

_-Ranboo_

. . .

The next time Ranboo met the girl was under similar circumstances, but he thought it ended. . . Better. Better for him, at least.

Ranboo stood in the throng of Enders, gripping Lynn's hand tightly. Lynn was one of the older foundlings, being 17 years old, but he was already majorly independent. He still helped with the younger ones, though he often was out and about in the city, working odd jobs for money.

A few people jostled Ranboo, muttering brief apologies before they were out of sight, and thus out of mind. He groaned, wondering what possessed him to want to go into one of the busiest parts of the city at an even busier time. Time and dates often had little consequence in the End, since there wasn't a sky to show night and day (Ranboo couldn't even remember what the difference was), but occasionally there would be event planned for the occasional celebration.

Fireworks were being set off in town square, Ranboo remembered. He had wanted to see them, so had Lynn. Which meant Ranboo had someone responsible to look after him and he could go. He grinned, feeling excitement rush through him all over again- if anything, that was one perk of having memory problems, he could forget just to experience it all over again (It was kind of a double edged sword).

The crowd's bustle stilled and the conversations began to quiet as the Enders settled into good viewing areas. Ranboo spotted people on the balconies of the surrounding buildings- he wondered what it looked like from above, seeing the mass of individuals below. He was certain it was mesmerising, like-like-like-like-

Like _what_? 

Ranboo grunted in frustration as the thing he would have compared it to slipped his mind. Sometimes he wished-

A high pitched whistle whizzed against his ears, and his heterochromatic eyes wildly flicked around until it caught sight of the source of the noise- a small object streaking into the sky. There was a pregnant pause, Ranboo wondering if this is what a firework is, just a small speck that made a loud noise. He saw it and he thought Enders must get rather bored if this was something that gathered this large of a crowd. Then the speck reached its peak.

And the dark, endless void was replaced with an explosion of sound and kaleidoscope color.

The bright colors took up his sight, his hearing was stolen by the earth shattering band, and the strangely familiar smell of gunpowder filled his nose. And with those three things, his reality was whisked away, warped by memories buried under stress and torment. In that moment, Ranboo was somewhere else, though his hand was still being held by Lynn.

.҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂̈͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂̈͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ 

..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚.҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅM̵̪͉̮̖̲͙̳̖̙̠̬̗͉̈͌̆̎̑́̊̈̅̋̑ẽ̶̜͇̩̬̝͈̥͚͔͈̘͉̳̘͎̠̐̊͐͗͊̒̌͊͛̉̿͊̌̅̾̉̊̅m̸̪̟͙̞̦̙̲͓̖͉̯̤̳͔̠̗͇͉̙̦̖̫͆̑̿̎͑̐̓̉̈͑̉͆̎͋̐̉̾̏̍̀̚̚o̵̟̲͉̭̦͎͕̰̠̭̤͓͐̐̄̽̒͌̊̊͗̑̐̂̍̎̈́͛͐͂͛̇͑̏̔r̶͍̲̞͚͉̙̥̲̬͔͙̲͉̤̦̩͚̱̭̥̩͎̙̃̂̾̈́͂̄̊̂͑͌̅̌̋̿̎̒̌ȉ̸̩͓͉̟̝̱̣̲̦̙̮͙̤̮̟͓͔͉̇͊͐̂͆̾̅͊̐̆̏̆̍̿̿́̽͊ẽ̸͔̮̖̫͇̖̱̠̥̣̩̪́̒͐̇̐̎͐̇͐͐̀̿̔s̸̥̫͚͍͙̱̘̭̫̠̖̫͚͎͎̬̩̗̤̰̗͍̣̙̑̍̂̓̾͋̆̀̾̂͆̅.̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚.҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚

.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉ .͖̥̙͔͢ .̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢.͓̖̲̩̜͔͖̥͢ .̢͎͚̤͉̘̱̝͖̣̮̜̮ .͉̞̥͓͎̰̯̣̞͙͈͢ͅ .̖͚̪͍̲͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉ .͖̥̙͔͢ .̧̦͉̬̫͚̳̫̳̣ .͓̖̲̩̜͔͖̥͢ .̢͎͚̤͉̘̱̝͖̣̮̜̮ .͉̞̥͓͎̰̯̣̞͙͈͢ͅ .̖͚̪͍̲͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉.̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢.̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ 

.҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ 

_He was terrified._

_The air was filled with the stuffy smell of gunpowder instead of sap and warm earth._

_The room around him shuddered as another explosion went off, dust sliding off the stone walls, splinters digging into his knees from the wood floor._

_He was hiding. He didn't exactly know why, or from who, but after the first explosion he didn't question it._

_People rushed past- each footstep sounded like its own firecracker going off in the silence between each actual explosion. He didn't know whose side they were on, and he didn't dare crack open his door to find out._

_Another group of people rushed past and he tensed, certain that in any second the heavy, dark oak door would be thrown open and his hiding place would be discovered._

_But instead there was the distinct twang of a crossbow shot, and the thump of a bolt embedding itself into a shield. A war cry sounded, one from both sides, and the percussive clank of steel on steel rang. More screams sounded, these filled with pain and dying breath._

_As the sounds stilled, a victor was declared._

_"Search the rooms," a stern voice commanded. "There were reports of illegal hybrid housing here, not to mention a large amount of other blackmarket worthy things."_

_Shivers washed down his spine as several other masculine voices cheered and marched off in different directions. He held his breath, hoping that none would open the door._

_His eyes widened when a set of iron soled boots stopped just outside the door he was hiding behind._

_The door shook, but a heavy duty lock stopped it from opening._

_"Sir, this one's locked."_

_"What do you expect me to do?! Get creative- there are plenty of tools around here to help!"_

_There was a sheepish chuckle, then an excited whisper. A sound of something being loaded._

_He felt his entire being tense. A faint, greenish blue glow seemed to fill the air._

_"This is gonna be fun."_

_Then his world was filled with smoke, splinters, and trace amount of color._

_The smell of gunpowder overpowered him._

_He wished desperately to be able to_

_E S C A P E_

_And he did._

.҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂̈͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ .̔͋̋̒͛͋̈́̀̒̓̋͡ .̂͒̅̅̋̍͋̒͠ .҇̉̑̿͂ .̐͆̑̔́̏̋̅̾̕ .͊͆̊̓̓̄̚͠ .҇͋̾̌ .́̂͆͋̽̊̄͂̈͝ .̵҇̔̄͗͐̔̎̑̐̾̄̓̈͋̚̚ .̶̾̽̋̎̆̏̎̊̕ .̸̓̀͋̀̔͋̅̈́̍͊̋͝ .̵̛͊̉͛̍͋̈́̈́̒̈̊̓̅ .̷̔̾̃͗͗͊̑͒̕ .̶҇͐́̇̑̔̈́̆͋̿́̇̒͗̄̃ .̴̀̂̇̔͊͗͑̑̏̚͞ .̴̈̎̍̌͌̂̈͐͊͌͠.̴̍̃͆̾́̈̓̍͐̒͆̆̚͞ .҈̓̇͊̍̐̓͊̎͂̀̍̎́͗͛͐͠ .҉̓̓͊̿͊̔͋̆̈́͝ .̴̀͊͛̌̊̌̓̍̑͑̿͊̃̒̃̇͡ .̴̍͗̏̄̍́̓̄͑̈͝ .҇̾͛̐̄ .̄͐͋̑͑͡ .̛̄͆̋͛͐̾ .̂͑̇̌̄̈̍͂̿̐̇͡ .͗̎̃͆͞ .̓͗̓̔̓͝ .̑̊̾͂̉͡ .̅̊͊̚͠ .̽̑͒͆̊̓͂͡ .̛̇̓̃̏ 

..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚.҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅM̵̪͉̮̖̲͙̳̖̙̠̬̗͉̈͌̆̎̑́̊̈̅̋̑ẽ̶̜͇̩̬̝͈̥͚͔͈̘͉̳̘͎̠̐̊͐͗͊̒̌͊͛̉̿͊̌̅̾̉̊̅m̸̪̟͙̞̦̙̲͓̖͉̯̤̳͔̠̗͇͉̙̦̖̫͆̑̿̎͑̐̓̉̈͑̉͆̎͋̐̉̾̏̍̀̚̚o̵̟̲͉̭̦͎͕̰̠̭̤͓͐̐̄̽̒͌̊̊͗̑̐̂̍̎̈́͛͐͂͛̇͑̏̔r̶͍̲̞͚͉̙̥̲̬͔͙̲͉̤̦̩͚̱̭̥̩͎̙̃̂̾̈́͂̄̊̂͑͌̅̌̋̿̎̒̌ȉ̸̩͓͉̟̝̱̣̲̦̙̮͙̤̮̟͓͔͉̇͊͐̂͆̾̅͊̐̆̏̆̍̿̿́̽͊ẽ̸͔̮̖̫͇̖̱̠̥̣̩̪́̒͐̇̐̎͐̇͐͐̀̿̔s̸̥̫͚͍͙̱̘̭̫̠̖̫͚͎͎̬̩̗̤̰̗͍̣̙̑̍̂̓̾͋̆̀̾̂͆̅.̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚..҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩̬́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚.҉͍͈̞̭͙̖̲̫͖̬̟̫̭͙̋̽̽̌̐͛̆̏͌̓̔̐̓͋̊̂̉̂̆̇̎̌ .̸͓͈̘̥̦͎̙̯̗̜̰̤͉͚͖̗̠̠̩̣̤̂̍̾̋͛̑̑̈̈́̒̌ͅͅ .̶̠̥̝̠̙͈̬͔̟̞̤̥͓͑͋̄̏̍̿̇̏̎̑͑̀̿̔̉͑̒̾̾̏̃ .҉̗͚̞̖͇͓͚͔͍̫͔̓̌͊͆͐͆̽͊̒̐̉́̉̚ͅ .̴̘̗͍͖̜̱̘̬̲̲̪̞̩̥̠͕̩͇͖̬̠̥̽͊̐̌̄̇̌́͛͂͑̀̾̊̍̊̈̊̚ͅ .̴̩̰̫̞̱̮͕̱̮͉͚̰͙̝̲͎̯͊͑̾͑̉͂͌̾͋͗͑̅͒͛͛̐́̓̇͗ͅ .̵̝͓̦̮͉̗͔̣͈̲͎͎̳̤̜͍̖̗͓̜̐͊̉͗͑̋́͌̅̈̓̿̆͒̈́̽͌͑̃̅̚ͅ .̵͓͈͚͍͔̱̭̜͉̮̳̱̜͍̫̝̾͒̓̍͌̓͛͋̽̈̚̚ͅͅ .̶̲̭̳̯͚̫̳͎̯̣͚̝̠̩̩̰͇͆̾̐͋̀͒̔͌͛̾̎̐̐̔͂̆͑̆̽̐͛̓̚ .̵̙̠̳͓̰͉̜͖̗̱̟̟̞̓͑̂̍̔͆͂̈̅͂́̿̑̚ͅ .̴̣͓͔̦̳͖͎̱̪̘̞̤͎̪̬̞̤̱͖͓͙̾̀̅̓͊̓̀̑͛̆̇̾̐̅̓̑͌͑͛̎̍̚ .̵̞͎̭͇͎̟̳͕͉̗̮͖̇͐͑̽̋͛̓̀̅̔͆͛͊͊̈́̾̃̆̄̓̚ͅ .̸͍͖͇̫̤̣̗͓͍͓̥͍̥̞̘͚̦̑̀̄͋̒͌̀̒́͂̎̓ .̵̣̙͚̞̘̙̜͈͖̟͔̭̠̣͍̩̥̫̒͒͛̊̽̂̎́̀͋̄͛̎͂̍̀̍̚̚ .̶̯̦̣͈͇͖̱̤̯͚͔̪͔̩̤̓́͊͛̒̓̅̎͆̃̀ͅ .̸͙̜̮͓͕̖͎̭̫͉͕͉̭̙̖̣͙̩̆̾͋̈̓̓̒̐̂̔͐̍̎̅͐̚̚ .̵̦̬̣͔͎̙͔̲͎̙͍͚̞̬̮̭̲̤̩́̐̈̔͗͑͋̐̍̐͐̉̈́̿̉̌̽̌͛̂͑̑͐̚

.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉ .͖̥̙͔͢ .̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢.͓̖̲̩̜͔͖̥͢ .̢͎͚̤͉̘̱̝͖̣̮̜̮ .͉̞̥͓͎̰̯̣̞͙͈͢ͅ .̖͚̪͍̲͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉ .͖̥̙͔͢ .̧̦͉̬̫͚̳̫̳̣ .͓̖̲̩̜͔͖̥͢ .̢͎͚̤͉̘̱̝͖̣̮̜̮ .͉̞̥͓͎̰̯̣̞͙͈͢ͅ .̖͚̪͍̲͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢ .̨͈̣̭̠̭̗̜͖͚͔̦͖ .̨̮̤͍̜͍̲͚͔̗̬.̳̞͎̮̟̜͙͓̮̙̮͜ͅ .̡̙͙͚̠̤̜̥͕͎̥ .͓̮̯̳̰͙̦͈͎͇̙͚͢ .̢̲̲̲̬̗͓ .̡̜̘̗̫̳̟̲̝̜̱͓ .̥̩̖͚̠̲͖͢ .̡̘̰̩͉͍̞͈̱̤̫ͅ .̢͇̮̣͕̗͙͎ .̢̰͎̪̖͉.̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ .̶̨̣̠͚̘̤̥̬̬͍̯̳̥͖͍ͅ .҉̨̤̯͚͈͎̣͕̖̰̗͎͇̩̣̮̥ .҈̧̘͖̖̞̣͉̤̫͕̮̬̞ͅ .̶̢̰̲͔̘̪̦̜̤̟͉̤̬͎ .̵̨͚͇̞̠͓͉̖͔̠̳ .̵̧̟̪̗͓͕͙̜͓͈͉̟̱̦̩̯ .̵̨͉̮̞̭͉͎̱̟ .̵̞͚͎̪͍͎̜̩̜̬̱͉̲̫͢.̸̨̗̠͎̲̘͚̰ͅ .̴̨̳̰̩̘͇͉̲̮̥͓̱̖ .҉̝͎̞̮͔̭̯̦̗̲̗̤̪͜ͅ .҉̢͇̦͍̠̭̪̘̝͖̦̦̱͚̞ͅ .҉̢̦̞̱͉͓͖̫̰̬̭̮ͅ .̵̢͇̝̞̥̤̗̗͙̥̯̱ .̴̨̰̝̬̗̱̝͎̱͓̲̪͚ .̷̡̳͙͉̗͚͈̗̭ͅ .҉͉̟͚̩̞̙͓̪̜̪̝̤͙̩̤̖͢ 

**"-ey! Hey!"**

The first thing that Ranboo realized was that he was being shaken by a little girl. The second thing was that he was in a very different place than he was before.

**"H-huh? W-where am I? What happened?"**

Said girl huffed, vaguely familiar frowny mask reflecting her mood. **"Don't ask me. I literally walked into this alley and you were against the wall and not responding to anything I did."**

His brow furrowed as he bit his lip. **"But I wasn't here before, right? Yeah, I wasn't here before- I was in the crowd waiting for the fireworks. When'd I come here?"**

The girl tilted her head slightly. **"Are you talking to me or yourself?"** Her tone had a lilting sarcasm to it and Ranboo imagined if he could see her face (faceless) she'd be raising an eyebrow.

**"Sorry,"** Ranboo mumbled. As he stared at her in the silence the familiarity seemed to itch at the back of his mind. **"Sorry, but have I met you before. . ?"**

**"Hmph, I thought I made that punch to the face memorable."**

Ranboo's eyes lit up as he recalled the event. **"Oh! You're that little girl!"**

She stiffened and her hands clenched into fists. **"What do you mean 'I'm that little girl'?! I'm not much smaller than you and I can protect myself!"**

Ranboo winced and flailed his arms as he tried to defend himself. **"I didn't say you couldn't protect yourself! Yous gave me a pretty good smack to the face. I was just saying that you are a girl that is small! Besides what else am I supposed to call you?!"**

She huffed. **"I don't know, maybe 'little girl that can whoop your a- butt.'"** 'Little girl that can whoop your butt' seemed to smirk.

Ranboo, however, frowned. **"That's way too much of a mouthful. What's something I can actually call you?"**

**"I dunno, what's something I can call you? Other than half 'n half weirdo."**

**"Now that's just hurtful,"** Ranboo joked. He didn't really care what people called him, most of the time. 

**"Then give me a name, weirdo."**

**"Fine,"** He sighed melodramatically. **"M' names' Ranboo."**

**"Ranboo."** She seems to try the name out. **"Kinda sounds like 'rainbow' but without the 'i.'"**

**"It does?"** There was a pause as he compliments this new information. **"I guess you could if you pronounce it like that. Personally I pronounce it like 'Rahnboo.'**

The two were silent for a moment. Then the little girl shrugged. **"My names Drista."**

**"Oh really? That's pretty cool."**

**"Not really, it's just a name-"**

**"Ranboo!"** Both Drista and Ranboo looked up at the shout of the name. At the entrance of the alleyway was a wide eyed Lynn, whose sides were heaving like he had just been sprinting. 

**"I've got to go,"** Drista mumbled, and she vanished before Ranboo could protest.

**"I was looking for you everywhere! The first firework went up and you disappeared! It about gave me a panic attack."** Lynn's breath was rapid, like he was about to have a panic attack either way.

**"Mhm, sorry."** Ranboo mumbled. **"I didn't mean to disappear. T-The fireworks just. . . scared me, I think."**

**"Well, I better take you back. If the first firework scared you so bad, then you probably don't want to be around for the rest of the show."** Lynn finally seemed to catch his breath and he wiped some sweat off his brow. **"Who was that girl you were just with?"**

**"A friend, I think."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer the question I asked in the last chapter (would you guys want more end or jump into the meat and potatoes, if you didn't remember the question) I did a little bit of both. I wanted to incorporate Drista into the story somehow, so that's end content and some potatoes.
> 
> Also, I don't really have a timeline for how old they are since I don't know when Dream officially separated from his family. If it's a bit off from the Run Boy Run AU, then consider it a minor AU.
> 
> I imagine Drista is seven to nine years old and Ranboo is nine to eleven years old as an estimate. 
> 
> Also, acording to AO3's statistics only 11.22% of readers have hit the kudos button, so please remember to do that if you enjoyed <3


	6. Adventures with Drista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World building + Ranboo gets to know Drista a little better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drista's character, I feel, is up for interpretation since she isn't really involved in the lore all that much. :)

Chapter 6: Adventures with Drista

Ranboo sat staring blankly at the wall across from him. His mind seemed to be particularly foggy today and he could hardly focus on what Matron Yura was having a lesson on. His fingers felt the fuzz of the several blankets he had piled on himself and his whole body was practically eaten by the cushion that he sat in. The fireplace burned nearby, and he usually would go sit near it but the more outgoing foundlings had already claimed that spot, he he instead decided to sit in his second favorite spot, the beanbag corner. 

**"Tulia."** Yura called out, the sudden sharpness of her voice catching Ranboo's attention. Tulia was lounging in a combination of beanbags and blankets and snoring slightly. **"Tulia!"**

That managed to wake her up. **"Hmm? What'sup?"** Her voice was groggy from sleep. Yura's eyes held concern instead of disappointment like one would expect.

**"Tulia, how much sleep have you been getting? You always seem to love culture lessons."**

**"I do, I-"** she yawned, **"love these lessons. I- I don't know why I haven't been able to sleep. It's like whenever I try I end up waking up after a few minutes."**

Yura's brow creased further. **"When's the last time you slept?"**

**"Uhm. . . Several days ago?"** Tulia groggily rubbed her eyes **"Last time I remember sleeping well was after the lesson on, uh, Shulkers?"**

Now, even though there is no day and night in the End, time still passes. Enderborns and halfborns would go insane if they didn't have some way to measure time (that's why most of them left the End in the first place, after all). It's very important for Lookers to have some sort of schedule or consistency or they'd be unbalanced- seeing as Enderborns imitate them, the same rule apply to them as well. So there was a clock tower that rang every hour constructed in every End city once the 'borns started migrating back. Clocks were also made in bulk and sent out to all of the houses. 

That was for the hours, though. The days were marked with calendars and the seasons were marked by the chorus fruit growth. The years were marked in an extremely special way. Every year, the Queen leaves the capital End City known as Dravnau and flies to each End City in order to connect with her subjects. Ranboo's End City's name was Castite (it was a pain to remember the name).

Yura's frown deepened. **"Tulia, that lesson was eight days ago. Why don't you go back to sleep?"** It wasn't really a question, more like a very polite command. A command that Tulia was more than happy to follow, if the sounds of her snoring after a few moments gave any indication on how she felt about the subject of sleep.

What she hadn't done was get all cozy again, and with how she was positioned, Tulia would be waking up with a cramped neck. So Ranboo did what any decent being would do and adjusted a few of the beanbags to act as a pillow, fixing a few more of the blankets while he was at it. A few of the girls at the fireplace giggled while one of the older foundlings cooed about how cute the interaction was.

Yura cleared her throat. **"Anyway, now that that's settled, where was I?"**

**"You finished talking about our pearls and just started talking about Chorus fruits effect on them."** Lynn chimed in from his position on the couch.

**"Ah, right,"** Yura smiled, **"Thank you Lynn. Now our pearls are a sensitive object. They allow us to teleport and need a combination of magic energy and nutrition in order to stay healthy. Chorus fruit is very special as it's a very special food."**

**"Since it's the only food that grows naturally in the End, it gets steeped with Ender magic, or Endergy. When someone's pearl gets low on magic, it's common to eat one in order to get a quick recharge. But if your pearl is small and can't hold as much Endergy or already full, it can cause an overload. . ."**

Ranboo's vision blurred and he blinked blearily as haziness once again took over his brief moment of clarity. Dark spots swam over his vision in waves, leaving him to eb in and out of consciousness. He fought a losing battle as he struggled to stay aware, only to soon get lost in his own head completely.

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal of ~~Child~~ Ranboo_

_Entry 72:_

_I keep having weird dreams whenever I sleep. Sometimes it's not even when I'm sleeping. Sometimes I. . . I don't really know how to describe it. It's like I black out, except I'm still awake. I guess. . . I just get lost in my head??? It's weird._

_The things -thing really- I dream about don't make much sense. It's always the same, sometimes I remember some parts better than others, but it's all just. . . familiar. I always remember gunpowder, being terrified, some sort of fight, a big bang, and then. . . nothing after that. It doesn't make much sense. I wonder what it means._

_Tulia says she also gets bad dreams -she calls them nightmares- a lot. For her they don't happen often, but when they do they come for a while. Hers have been more sad than scary. She said they reminded her of things she didn't want to remember and that she was kind of jealous of me. We've stopped talking with each other, so I think it's appropriate to erase her off my 'Friends list.'_

_It's not much of a list, only Doe is on there now - but I hardly even remember her anymore. She left me so long ago I'm not even sure if she was my friend. But I figure if there's anyone I can trust it's me._

_My Cleric is also very confused about my . . . something called biology? She didn't explain a lot of things to me other than my 'abnormally large pearl capacity' and 'strange markings.' Also I have a water allergy, which is also strange because Enderborns don't have the same water aversion that Endermen do. And any Looker water allergies are a lot different than my own._

_School is getting better. I really enjoy the culture classes and I'm always learning new things like how Endermen stay clean. Since they can't touch water, they use dry sponges since their skin is tougher and more scale like. The Elders actually have enough control of their Endergy that they can just teleport the filth straight into the void. I don't have scales covering my whole body and I don't have enough skills over Ender magic to do that. I hate baths - they burn._

_I wish I wasn't a freak._

_I'm hoping that I'll be able to go into the market again soon. Maybe I'll see Drista._

_-Ranboo_

. . .

Ranboo liked music. He really did- lullabyes soothed him and he loved the voice of a humming Ender. The instruments that were in the End consisted of chimes and bells, things that ring out beautifully, crisp and clear.

Music was in the air. It whirled through the void sky, whisking its way through the crowds busying the market square. It fluttered lightly in the air, warbling with delicacy. Music was something that was usually solely vocal in the end, Lookers having been the ones to actually create a majority of the instruments.

This was new. It was unlike anything the Ender hybrid had ever heard before. The tempo seemed quick, but after a phrase of notes, longer ones would be held out in a way that felt bittersweet. Each one held a twang, a strange vibration that was clean but raspy at the same time.

Ranboo tugged at the person who held his arm- it was Lynn again. **"Where is that music coming from?** " Ranboo's curious heterochromatic eyes searched the crowd, but despite him being taller than the people his age, he was still not tall enough to look over a crowd full of fully grown Enders.

Lynn took the lead, gently guiding Ranboo to the source of the new and exciting music. There already was a crowd of curious children and even some adults surrounding the player. A few Endermen observed from afar, wanting to take in new information of something even they hadn't experienced in all their decades. 

When Ranboo caught sight of the instrument, he was intrigued. It was made of some form of dark wood, in stark contrast to the pale, yellowish Endstone behind the player. The main body looked like a stick that stemmed from a small hollow base. Two strings ran from the base of the instrument all the way to the top, where they were wound around their own knob. Even more interesting was a second stick with only one thicker string, detached from it, save for how it was mounted between the two strings on the main body.

The player was sitting on the ground on a small carpet, knees folded under her. She wore a set of clothes with a certain sheen that Ranboo had never seen before, stitched in a way that left the sleeves wide and made the dress look as though it was wrapped around her instead of just one piece of fabric like what Ranboo was used to seeing. The colors were beautiful, vibrant, and refreshingly not purple. 

A sudden movement of the second stick distracted Ranboo thoroughly as a high note pierced the air and his own heart with melancholy. For what, he did not know, but the sudden jump from a long low note to a long high note brought a strange feeling of. . . _Longing_.

Polite claps rang around him, causing Ranboo to open his eyes. He hadn't even recalled closing them. The player set the strange instrument down, bowing her head slightly in a silent 'thank you' as some even put money in a small bin. A few children closer to the front of the throng giggled, but were soon dragged away by their parents as the crowd dispersed.

**"Uhm,"** Ranboo found himself saying despite his aversion to talking to strangers, **"What is that instrument?"**

**"Hm?"** She looked up, her mask a delicate white porcelain with rosy cheeks and almond eyes painted on. **"It's called an Erhu- it's a very popular instrument from where I come from."** The last phrase she said wistfully.

**"I-It's very nice,"** Ranboo stuttered, averting his eyes nervously. But a new curiosity bubbled up within him. **"Where do you come from?"**

She stiffened slightly- Lynn winced slightly next to him. **"Ranboo, you can't just-"**

**"It's fine-"** She shook her head. **"It's fine that he asked, but it doesn't matter. It's not like I can go back anyway."** Her smile filled with nostalgia and bitterness. **"Where I came from was quite an isolated village, in an isolated nation. Borns were shunned, but they weren't actively hunted like they are in other places. But when hunters came, following their compasses, we- I had to leave."**

Ranboo felt the question 'why' burning at his tongue, but awkwardness closed up his throat and he let the inquiry die before it reached his lips. **"Sorry,** " he mumbled instead. **"I don't think I've ever seen clothes like that here."**

She chuckled. **"It's a hanfu. And I haven't seen many fabrics styled quite like your own."**

Ranboo glanced down at his own clothes- a simple cloak over a plain shirt with rather plain pants. They didn't seem all that strange to him- but then again, he thought, her own clothes must not be very strange to herself. **"That's fair."**

Ranboo's eyes drifted in the silence, trailing up and down the purple and tan buildings behind the woman. He was drawn to a blur of green- a person ducking against the wall of a close alley. His eyes narrowed sightly at the sight as he puzzled out exactly who would be running in an alleyway.

He reached into one of his pockets, drawing out his memory book. He fished around for a pen and flipped open the journal. He flipped to the latest page, writing a quick entry so he wouldn't forget about the encounter.

_I met a woman who had a really neat instrument that had a beautiful sound. She had a different culture than most of everyone in the End. She told me she couldn't go back because of 'hunters'. I hear that term a lot, but I don't really know what it means. I also never realised that people came to the End from somewhere. Where was I from, before I came to the End?_

Ranboo closed the book with a sigh, shoving both his journal and pen into his pocket. Lynn was now having his own conversation with the woman and Ranboo took it as an opportunity to investigate the strange movement in the alley. Slipping away carefully, he walked in.

In a blur he gets shoved against the wall, and a hand muffles his sound of protest. Dazed, confused, and panicking slightly, his eyes dart around to find his attacker, soon settling on a girl with a frowny, white mask and a green cloak. A name swims through his muddled mind a moment later: Drista.

Her hand soon comes off his mouth once she notices his newfound clarity and he takes a few breaths of fresh air in order to calm himself more. **"We've got to stop meeting like this,"** Ranboo gave a breathy chuckle and Drista snickered and moved away.

**"C'mon, weirdo."** She waved him over, already running away deeper into the winding alleyway.

**"Hey!"** It wasn't difficult for Ranboo to keep up with her, what with his long legs, but she knew where she was going.

It got dark quickly- people didn't often go into alleys, so the lanterns that hang in them are few and far inbetween and hardly ever lit. End city alleyways tend to be rather winding, what with most buildings being tall pillars connected by sky paths that wound around said pillars. She almost lost him when she darted through a narrow path that branched off from what seemed to be the main alley, but he managed to catch sight of her green cloak just before the runaway disappeared completely. 

She turned suddenly up a narrow set of steps that led to the upper level of city (The main 'square' was the bottom level where most of the shops were set up) and Ranboo nearly skidded past them before he also scrambled up them. The second level was more open than ground level, so Drista went from speed demon to ninja. Somehow, Ranboo still managed to follow her.

When she reached what looked to be the end of the path, she stopped and looked back. Ranboo skid to a stop just behind her, panting for breath. Her mask was a little higher up than usual, so Ranboo could see her smirk. He got a feeling of deja vu along with a light, anticipatory dread curling around his stomach. Her smirk grew wider.

Then she lunged off the ledge.

Ranboo's heterochromatic eyes widened and his stomach dropped. He scrambled to the edge, hoping to see if she was okay- even though he had a underlying feeling of calm that she was fine. He sighed in relief when he saw she hadn't fallen to her death, but instead was bounding across small decorative ledges on the side of the building. She balanced on one that was just a tad bit wider than the others as she waved an arm at him.

**"Hurry up, half 'n half, it's not that hard!"** Came her exasperated voice. Her exasperated voice that sounded vaguely like she had done this before. It would make sense, with Ranboo's memory problems. It also made sense because he wrote his hope to see Drista in his memory book. It would be a little weird to write that if he hadn't already confirmed their friendship. He wondered why-

**"Ranboo, we don't have all day!"**

The Enderborn winced and nodded, shifting his gaze to the ledge he was supposed to jump on. It was small, just large enough for one of his feet, but there wasn't much room to gain momentum to make it to the next ledge. Ranboo gulped.

Taking a few steps back, he took in a calming breath, and got a running start. He jumped and flew through the air. He nearly overshot it, half of his foot hanging off the far side of the ledge when he landed. But he couldn't stop, else he wouldn't make the next one, and he pushed off again in one fluid motion landing solidly on the next.

His unruly hair whipped about and despite his uncertainty and fear, he was getting the motions down. It wasn't as hard as he thought, they're all spaced out the same and they all were about the same size - after he got a few in a row, it started becoming muscle memory (funnily enough, muscle memory was the only memory he didn't really have a problem with). Drista was a few steps ahead of him, but Ranboo had a feeling she wasn't going as fast as she could be.

There was a chorus forest off to the right, the dark purple-ish vines winding up and out and spiraling in random patterns. A few of the thicker vines were closer to the building.

Ranboo didn't have any chance to react before Drista jumped again, but this time in a completely different direction, and she snatched one of the stiff vines and swung herself on top of it. Despite it hardly being thicker than a rope, it hardly budged against her weight. Ranboo was shocked.

So shocked that he forgot he was in the middle of doing parkour that needed momentum.

He slipped, falling with a brief shriek of surprise that was muffled by the endstone wall he was currently scrambling to get a hold of. His claws, despite being sharp, did nothing to help him in his endeavor. He ditched the effort and instead kicked off the wall, hands reaching out to grab hold of one of the vines that were apparently strong enough to hold a person.

He missed. 

Ranboo idly wondered, as he plummeted, why the world hated him.

The world blurred around him: yellow, purple, black, and -strangely enough- a trace of bluish green.

Then something within him seemed to surge or snap or lurch- Ranboo wasn't sure which one would be the correct word to describe it. And he fell right onto a vine, managing to wrap his arms around it like a sloth before he slipped off. He shivered- he would say he felt colder, but there hasn't been a time where he remembered feeling warm, so he's also certain his temperature knowledge is nonexistent.

He looked over at Drista with a scowl. She was balancing on the vine parallel to his own. **"You're lucky I'm good at teleporting."**

She smirked. **"Sure. It wasn't that bad of a fall anyway."**

**"W-wh-whAt?! It was at least a story!"**

**"If you rolled, it wouldn't have been a problem."**

**"Whatever."** Ranboo sulked(mostly because she wasn't wrong), arms still wrapped around the vine. The friendly banter also felt familiar, and that just confirmed that he had been hanging out with Drista and just forgot about it. How else could he feel comfortable conversing with someone who was a stranger? _If they weren't actually a stranger._

Ranboo found he had good intuition for these types of things. Maybe it was just experience. Of him waking up and not remembering people's names, their personalities, where the line is, what his relationship with them is. Of waking up confused because for some reason he forgot where he was despite he doesn't remember ever living somewhere else. Of waking up scared, sad, and terrified for an unknown reason. Of waking up and forgetting-

His vine shook and he looked up to see Drista flailing her arms as she attempted to effortlessly cross the gap between the two vines. She tilted to the left a little too far and almost fell, whispering curse words in Common that Ranboo didn't quite have the knowledge to understand. She righted herself and saw the other Enderborn struggling to contain his laughter. **"Forget you saw anything,"** she hissed in faux anger. In reality her pride was only slightly bruised.

**"Shouldn't be a problem,"** Ranboo saluted jokingly. 

**"Of course it wouldn't be, Memory Boy,"** Drista teased. **"Now c'mon, we've got places to be."** She gestured at him to get up, but he remained unbudging from his sloth position.

**"I don't care how good your balance is, I don't trust these vines."** He pressed his finger into it for good measure, his finger leaving a small indent that soon filled out. **"These things defy the laws of this world. Why does it hold weight but it gets squished like a stuffed animal!? It doesn't make any sense."**

Drista gave a deadpan -not that Ranboo could see it. She started walking, the monochromatic sloth inching forward behind her **"You took a class on Chorus fruit, right?"**

**"You say that like I remember things like that."**

**"Shut up,"** she rolled her eyes, ignoring the muttered 'rude.' **"Chorus fruit are magic because they grow in the End. They grow off of Chorus vines, so it makes sense that those are also imbued with magic. That makes them really weird."**

**"Makes sense, makes sense,"** Ranboo amended. He continued to sloth- he was upside down now- and Drista had the feeling she'd just have to deal with it. 

**"Too bad you're too much of a coward to stand up. Parkouring on these things is fun."**

Ranboo did not rise to the bait. " **I think of it less as being a coward and more of knowing my limits."**

Drista smirked. **"And how are you supposed to expand those limits if you don't take a few risks?"** She stopped walking and looked back at him. Her smile grew and a shiver went down his spine. 

Ranboo gulped.

. . .

Ranboo was dangling off of the vine. Ranboo was dangling off the vine, holding onto it with one hand. And it was Drista's fault.

**"No, no, no nonono!"** Ranboo's voice was strained. **"You, uh, really don't have to do this!"**

Drista smiled down on him from her position above him. **"Think of it as a learning opportunity."** Then she reached down and peeled one finger loose. Ranboo's eyes widened as his grip started slipping. Slowly, she pried the second finger loose, and it was over.

Ranboo fell, a brief scream escaping his mouth before his feet miraculously landed on two different vines conveniently parallel to each other. He stumbled, arms flailing in an attempt to not fall off. Then he stabilized. Inhaling deeply, he held the breath for approximately five seconds before he released it in one fell swoop.

He looked back up at Drista, who's cheeky smile was plain to see. **"You knew that was there."**

**"Yep!"**

**"I hate you. I hate you so much."**

Drista dropped down with a lot more grace than Ranboo did- of course, she also knew those vines were there. Her landing hardly sent any tremors through them, which looked about as unnatural as it felt. **"Now that's not very nice."**

Ranboo didn't grace her with a response, deeming that a pout would express his stance on the topic more than words. 

. . .

Drista was right about the vine (branch?) parkour being fun. Not that he would admit to it. Pride wasn't really the reason (he liked to think he was good at admitting he was wrong), it was more of the fact he made such a big deal of it earlier that he didn't want to get embarrassed more than he already was. Did that count as pride? Maybe.

The vines acted sort of like a trampoline- which defied everything Ranboo knew of science and, uh, science. They looked like they should snap under the weight of anything larger than a small mammal. If they were viewed more like ropes, there was no way they should be still in the air without being connected to another thing - not to mention they should swing.

But they didn't snap, shatter, or swing. They bent a little under children's weight and immediately bounced back up once said weight left them. It didn't make any sense, and, for some reason, that made it even more exciting (which paired closely with anxiety inducing, but Ranboo could gloss over that).

The vines get closer together the further the duo travel down them- it doesn't take long before they have start jumping between vines, ducking and dodging in various other ways. Ranboo saw Drista showing off even further by flipping (he had a feeling that it was from practice rather than natural skill).

Ranboo wasn't surprised when she ducked under a larger branch and didn't reappear on the other side. Instead of stumbling from surprise, he narrowed his eyes, pushing of his next vine backwards instead of continuing his forward momentum. He grabbed one of the more vertical branches in a hug and slid down to where it connected with a base. Still significantly from the ground, Ranboo closed his eyes and concentrated. A freezing energy seeped- no- buzzed from his chest and rushed through his veins. His insides twisted and, suddenly, he was on solid ground.

And when he opened his eyes he saw Drista, leaning against the base of a Chorus tree and smirking- which is a very Drista thing to do, Ranboo absent mindedly thought, moving on before he could overthink anything he thought.

**"You learn quickly,"** Drista commented, slipping out of her (very needless- it's not like this was a competition) smug position.

**"I kinda have to,"** Ranboo grumbled slightly. **"You're so quick and I got the feeling you wouldn't slow down for me."** Not to mention the amount of times he forgot something and had to relearn it quickly so he could progress in his studies.

**"Well, you made it this far."** The gesture she did with her fingers and light head nod was something Ranboo now understood meant 'this way' and not just some weird way she expressed herself. It could be both- the amnesiac Enderborn hadn't ever really seen anyone use those types of signals before (of course whenever he had to follow anyone his hand always ended up being held, so it was a nice break).

Sure enough, Drista started walking the way she pointed with her nose, Ranboo following behind her, ducking any low hanging vines obscuring his vision. He focused solely on her green cloak, refusing to get distracted before he could reach wherever they were going. He didn't want her to start holding his hand- like he was some sort of baby- because she found out about his many issues.

Then he turned and found himself in an oasis.

. . .

_~~Diary~~ Journal of ~~Child~~ Ranboo_

_Entry 74:_

_Drista is very fun to hang out with! She is funny and she always reacts to my jokes positively. Well, she doesn't always laugh, but the point is she understands I'm joking. Tulia always got confused- sometimes she'd laugh, other times she'd call me stupid. Sometimes she'd even get angry or sad. Smad? Then she'd either close off or lash out in a definitely unfunny way. Drista just laughs or jokes right back and I am ok with that._

_Our secret base is very cool. Its hidden really well so that no one would be able to find it. I would write down the directions here, but I forgot how to get there before I had the chance to. It was fun though one the way there, is something I do remember. And something I don't want to admit._

_Our hideout is really pretty. It's hidden by chorus vines and gives a good view of the sky. There is also something Drista calls 'grass.' Apparently some Endermen had brought in chunks of it accidentally- Drista moved them into the grove and now it looks. . . more alive. Green. I really like the color green. There are also some flowers growing. One is 'blue.' I think I might like blue even more than I like green._

_I only hang out with Drista when no one else is around. She seems uncomfortable when anyone else tries to approach her, so I have to slip away without telling anyone. The Foundling Home doesn't really care if I disappear, as long as I'm back at a reasonable time._

_Wow, that sounds depressing._

. . .

**"Drista?"**

**"Yeah?"**

**"Why do you always wear a mask?"**

_Cruel eyes. Sharp teeth. Glinting daggers._

_Fear._

_"Get away from her!"_

_**Anger**._

_"Stay away you **Lookers**!"_

_Blood._

**"None of your business, half 'n half."**

**"O-oh. Sorry."**

. . .

_Entry 79_

_I'm worried about Drista. She's always running away from someone- her parents, I think? She doesn't mention them very often. I've heard a child is supposed to have a good relationship with their parents. At least, that's what it looks like when foundlings who got adopted visited their old friends._

_But I never see Drista with her parents, and whenever she does talk about them, it's always a complaint._

_Then again, I guess I'm not the best example since I don't even remember my parents. Sometimes I see how visiting kids interact with their parents- with love and caring and tolerance- and I can't help but try to imagine what my own would look like. Maybe my mom would be just like my left side while my dad would look just like my right. And they would joke about me wanting to be like both of them. And they would love me and not abandon me and not be gone._

_But I don't think I have a very good imagination because the dream always fades after that. Maybe I was just too much of a freak for them to handle._

. . .

**"Drista?"**

The girl in question was lounging on a hammock she had strung between two vines. **"Mhm?"**

**"What's your family like?"**

The question made her sit up and whip her head around to stare at the older boy incredulously. The split Ender was lying on one of the larger patches of grass, staring up through a break in the brambles so he could stare at the void sky. She couldn't see his face all that well in the dim lighting.

The dim lighting wouldn't have been a problem in the Overworld. Then she wouldn't have to craft torches or lanterns in order to light their hideout up. Then she could just rely on sunlight that would stream through the trees instead of worrying if a curious Ender would investigate a strange patch of light among the Chorus vines and-

-And find her. And take her back to her parents. 

The silence wouldn't be a problem if they were in the Overworld. It would have been filled with wind whirling, birds chirping, and leaves rustling. And she would be warmer too, with the sunlight. She wondered how the grass and flowers stayed alive this long without the touch of the sun's rays.

But right now the silence had nothing to fill it after Ranboo's question. And Drista figured it wasn't a harmful question (besides, she trusted him now).

**"They're alright,"** she settled on. She would have left it at that, but there had been a weight on her chest for a while and she figured that if she'd tell her struggles to anyone, it'd be Ranboo. **"We used to have a better relationship though."**

Her friend's silence pushed her to say more. **"When we first came here, I was young. Younger, at least. Like everyone, we were running from the Lookers."**

Drista slouched back into her hammock, getting herself situated once again. **"I had a brother, but when we escaped the hunters, he didn't come with us into the End. My parents were sad, but respected his decision because they felt he was old enough to make his own decisions."**

**"I-"** She shook her head, rubbing away the sudden tears that had welled up, **"I didn't understand why he was leaving us, leaving me. I didn't want him to go, and he wouldn't let me go with him. Neither would my mom or dad."**

**"They both been getting more and more protective over me. I told them I was going to find Dre- my brother a while ago, and suddenly I wasn't allowed to leave their sights!"**

Drista hadn't realized she started shouting. She wasn't going to stop. **"I just- I hate them! They're both too wussy to let me go! It's ugly here and boring! I don't care that it's safe- it's cold!"**

She felt as if no matter how much breath she took in it was never enough. The heated anger (she wished it actually warmed her up) slipped out from under her feet and suddenly she felt empty and sad. **"I just want to see him again!"**

She wailed, baling her hands into fists, she hugged her waist tightly and curled into herself, sobbing pathetically. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she sorely wished she could feel sunlight so she could be warmed up. She wanted to he the wind. She wanted the feel rain. See actual trees, not just these weird chorus vines.

She wanted to hug her brother (she missed his hugs. Hanging out with him when she was still blissfully ignorant about why they had to leave their house again. He was the reason she was so good at parkour.)

Then she felt the familiar cool touch of another Ender on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Ranboo, hand held out hesitantly. She could see the doubt in his eyes (he doubted himself), but it was mostly covered up by concern. Concern for Drista.

Her lip trembled. And when he held his arms out, she wrapped her own around him (she could ignore the fact he was a guy for now) and felt his wrap gently around her. A soft hum vibrated in his chest. A humm of a well known lullaby, one to comfort and for protection. She hummed along.

And if she started to drift off, no one needed to know that.

And the near silent whisper, **"I'll help you,"** was the last thing she heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a long time! I got really busy irl, not to mention I'm a bit of a slow writer. Updates will probably stay slow until I get more free time.
> 
> For the world building bit- mostly with the woman that Ranboo meets- I wanted to show that the world was a bit bigger than most people thought. I used a little bit of China as inspiration. The Erhu is an instrument that sounds really cool and I was hoping to show more culture since I felt medieval Europe inspires most realistic minecraft AUs. Which makes sense because medieval Europe also inspires a lot of fantasy novels.
> 
> Anyway, I probably won't do that very often, but I wanted to show that the King wasn't the king of the world and that the huntings affected other places as well.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Leave a comment if I should write a side series for various random people for MAXIMUM WORLDBUILDING. That would include people like the unnamed woman in here, Tulia, Yura, Lynn, and various other minor OCs that I'll use just so the world doesn't feel empty. If you want more Drista POV, that would also be included in the side series.


End file.
